A Day of Nights
by Catatonic Muse
Summary: Written for the Make an Album into a Story Competition from the HPFC forum. A series of one-shots from the life of Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellamort
1. The Lamb and the Labrador

Written for **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges **forum  
1023 words

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter the album A Day of Nights by Battle of Mice. If you recognize it, it probably isn't mine.

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**The Lamb and the Labrador**

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Bellatrix sat in the sliver of light cast into her cell by the moon, looked at the sky, and wondered what it could have been like, if their situation had been different.

_He looked beautiful as always, bidding her goodbye. She was expressly forbidden to go with him tonight. She was angry that he had abandoned their plans again—where was he always going these days—and slapped him as he went out the door. He turned to stare at her, perfect face marred by a livid red scratch, as she belatedly realized that she was wearing a ring. She refused to be cowed by his gaze, instead saying, spitefully, "Stay with your whore tonight. I hope your shadow never crosses my path again," and slammed the door in his face._

He never had. He had disappeared that night, killed, some said, by the Potter boy. She closed her eyes, waiting for the memories to take her again...

_Him looking down at her, sneering, as she spat up blood. Him telling her to marry Rodolphus, a smirk on his face. Him casting the curse again and again. His spiteful face looking down at her, laughing, hissing, spittingonherlikeshewasfilth..._

She came to the present, gasping, and expelled the memories from her mind. The ever-present chill pressed closer, closer, trying to pull her back into the realm of her memories, but she shoved it away. She wold not succumb to the cold like so many of her fellows. She could hear them scream, talk to people long gone, could hear their sanity slipping away, day by day. She would not let that happen to her. She needed to be strong—for him. He would come for her someday.

_It had rained that night, mirroring her tears. She waited for him to come back all night, had sat in a vigil by the window, willing him to return to her. He had every other night, even when they fought. As the dawn broke, clouds turning red, she felt a weight settle in her stomach. She knew, somehow. Knew that he would not be returning. She headed to Cissy's home to wait for the news. She couldn't be alone. _

She stared up at the moon, hoping for it to tell her something, anything. Its light bathed over her, lifting her from her cell, away from the chill, and immersed her in warmth. The shadows of doubts fled her mind as she focused solely on the warmth and sense of freedom. She could sense that he was coming. It would only be a matter of time, now...

_She looked up at the stone pillars of the Malfoy Manor, considering. How many spells would it take for the house to come down?_

"_Bella!" her concentration was broken by her master's call. He was finished meeting with Lucius and wanted to leave. She turned on the spot and watched the stone pillars melt into the wooden walls of their current base of operations. He crushed her to his chest and captured her mouth in a kiss. She stepped away, aware of eyes upon them._

_Rodolphus—her _husband, _she reminded herself—glared at the two in disgust before stomping off._

She raised her head in laughter. She had paid for her actions that night. Rodolphus had always had a rather nasty temper. Her Master hadn't cared one way or another, as long as Rodolphus didn't try to take what was his. So, although he looked, Rodolphus had never touched her inappropriately. But, as she knew, there were many, _many_ ways to cause pain without touching. She looked at the next cell over as laughter bubbled up in her throat again. He would certainly love to get his hands on her, she knew. He was one of the ones who had gone crazy. Occasionally he would scream at her. Those moments filled her with glee, a vicious happiness that even the dementors couldn't tear away immediately.

As her laughter trailed away, she looked at the sky, waiting and wondering. How long would she be stuck like this, alone, in this place? Already, she could feel herself slipping away. She was frozen in a neverending day, repeating itself over and over. Would she be able to stand much more of this?

_The vase shattered next to her ear as she entered the house. Rodolphus had been drinking again, she knew. He always forgot he wasn't supposed to leave marks on her when he had been drinking. He grabbed her arm in an iron grip and hit her across the face, sending her tumbling into the wall, and from there into the broken glass from the vase. Her head reeled from smacking the wall. He plucked her wand away while she was still stunned and twirled it around his fingers._

_"Now, now, Bella. It's time for some fun. How does it feel to be powerless, useless, _disgusting_?" Rodolphus grinned._

_She got to her feet slowly, doing her best to ignore the shard of glass sticking out of her arm. He hit her again, harder this time, and her head glanced off the corner of the table on her way down. The last thing she saw before she succumbed to the darkness was Rodolphus pointing his wand at her..._

She shoved against the cold bars to her back, using them to get herself to her feet. She could not stand for very long on her own, anymore. Her body was suffering from being locked away, but for how long she could not guess. She stumbled over to the window, reached out her hand, and attempted to catch the moon's light in her hand. The light illuminated her arm, but it slipped away between her fingers.

She stood there for several breaths, before her weakened legs gave way, and she fell, arm grasping at the rough wall. As she lay on the floor, she looked at the dark blood coating her hand and laughed. It had been so long since the pain—oh, the pain. She smeared the evidence across her face as she slipped into an uneasy sleep. She would wait for him, wait until she was alone no longer.

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	2. Bones in the Water

Written for **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges** forum.

554 words

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**Disclaimer: **I certainly don't own anything, especially Harry Potter or Battle of Mice.

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**Bones in the Water**

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Bellatrix felt the first tingles of pain radiating from her arm, where she had been hit. The searing frisson of pain made her tilt her head back in pleasure. It was only made more complete by the fact that her Master had cast the spell. She brought her arm up to her mouth and licked the blood off, smiling, yet kept her eyes on him all the same. More spells were coming, she knew.

"_Crucio!"_ she shouted, as she easily dodged the Dark Lord's next spell. It hit him in the chest. She watched, enjoying the sweet deliciousness of his pained expression. She screamed as he did, long and loudly, only lifting the curse when the feeling of bliss coursing throughout her body interrupted the spell.

He came up casting, then took her as she lay in a puddle of her own blood. He then proceeded to take her against the wall, on the table, and in a rather uncomfortable position on the piano. She clutched the piano as he did something particular with his wand, smearing blood over the varnished wood. As they shuddered and clutched one another in the throes of their passion, she raked her nails over his back, adding his blood to hers on the floor.

As soon as he had gotten his pleasure, he pulled out and left her there, presumably to clean up. She didn't care. She pulled out her wand, cast again and again, until her flesh was ghostly pale and she was surrounded by the redness, the sweet vitality. She lay back, sated, and felt her life begin to soak into her hair as the ripples continued, sending waves of pleasure down her body.

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She woke up from a nightmare to the evil shadow that sat in the back of her mind, waiting, lurking, watching for any doubts. _You could kill him, you know._ It whispered. She froze. _Yes. You know it would feel so good. Can't you just _imagine_? That warm body, slowly going cold, the life going from his eyes? You know you'd love it. _She shivered, not from the cold. _You want to. Kill him. KILL HIM!_

As she reached for her wand, he awoke.

"What is it, Bella?" her Master asked, arm traveling over her sweaty stomach. "Imagining ways to kill muggles keeping you from sleep?"

She smiled at him and acquiesced. The trick was making her lies just close enough to the truth that there was no noticeable difference.

She stood up, ignoring the chill of the room, and walked to the window. Her fingers brushed over the frosty glass as she brushed the curtain away and stared out. He came up behind her and took her again in front of the window. Her fingers inscribed the patterns of her pleasure upon the glass. As he came, he cast the _Cruciatus_ curse upon her, whispering in her ear, "That was for earlier."

She did not comprehend his words until much, much later.

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If she could rip out her heart and gift it to him, she would in an instant. The moment he asked, her, she vowed she would place the beating, red organ in his hands. Until then, she would satisfy herself with the hearts of others.

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	3. Sleep and Dream

The third installment written for **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges **forum.**  
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757 words

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**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, everything belongs to JKR and Battle of Mice. If you think otherwise, perhaps I should introduce you to my friends in the padded room.

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**Sleep and Dream**

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Bella held her baby in her arms, rocking it slowly. "Hush, little one. Wouldn't want to wake your father, would you?" she glanced quickly toward the door to their bedroom, to ensure that her Master was still asleep. He had been rather irritable of late, and would not be pleased of their child woke him up again.

"Fall asleep and dream," Bella said softly, rocking her baby.

She knew she would only have a short amount of time with her child before he was taken away. Any child of the Dark Lord's would be an immediate target, and as such, had to be hidden. "I'll protect you as long as I can, but they will try to stomp you into the ground."

A sound over her shoulder drew her attention to her lover. He looked at the babe in her arms. "How long do you think he'll stay safe and whole?" she asked him, clutching the child closer.

He looked at the child in her arms imperiously. "They might try, but they will never quite cut through. He's got a little piece of you."

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Bella rocked the child and worried. The time grew longer every day. Soon she knew she had to give up her child. She had never been the maternal type, but there was something about the baby's sleeping face that made her clutch it closer, want to never let it go.

All the spite she had for Cissy's irrational attachment to baby Draco turned upon herself. She was so attached to this baby, it was as if she had a chain around her leg. She could even leave the house for fear that the child's existence would be discovered.

Yet, she smiled as she looked at the baby's face, she could not tear herself away.

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She grew more nervous every day. "Fall asleep and dream," she sung softly to the babe. She knew that they'd come. They came every day, to see if he was old enough to take away. They'd be coming again in an hour.

She stood up and started to pace. "He's got a little piece of you. He's got a little piece of you," had become her mantra over the past week.

The babe opened its mouth in a yawn and settled itself on her breast.

She knew the day they came to take away her child would be the day she died.

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The day she was dreading finally arrived. They came in and attempted to steal her child away from her. She dueled more fiercely than she had ever before, and they fell beneath her fury. The sweet darkness in her bones propelled her onward, gave her more strength than she knew she had. One snuck close enough to put a hand on her child, and she severed his arm. The others regrouped to steal her child and finally succeeded. As they took the squalling child out the door, she felt her heart die in her chest.

She fought away from the hands holding her and apparated to the door, blocking their retreat. They had no choice but to hand her child over.

That night, she rocked her baby to sleep and whispered sweet nothings. She brushed the downy black hair off his forehead and traced the thing that made time seem to stop—a red, shiny scar. Her baby had been injured in the fight. She kissed it, gently, ever so gently, and vowed revenge. "Sleep, my baby, and dream," she sung softly as she laid him down.

"Sleep, my lovely Harry. I'll be back when blood has been repaid," she left with murder in her face.

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The men stared at Bellatrix where she paced in her cell, the smile on her face larger than her mouth, stained by the blood of their comrade.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have given her the paper?" one guard asked.

"That only occurred to you _after_ she maimed several of our men? Stebbins will be lucky not to lose the arm." his companion said, more than a hint of acid in his tone. "She fought for the damn thing like it was her own damned child."

Bellatrix sat and placed the paper on her lap. She began cooing to it as she stroked the lightning scar of the boy who was on the front page.

They left to the haunting refrain, "Fall asleep and dream. Fall asleep and dream, now."

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	4. Salt Bridge

The fourth installation written for **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges **forum.**  
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353 words

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**Salt Bridge**

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Bellatrix watched dully as the second hand move around the face. The constant _click. click. _coming from the clock was the only sound that broke through the silence. Her Master was dead. The news had been released. It had been ages—_decades_, it seemed—since his death, but she could not bring herself to find the will to go about her life. So she sat, alone, in his house, waiting to die.

Time stretched into nothingness as her haunted eyes stared at the wall, not moving, not seeing. She was frozen in time, frozen in her memories of him, of _them_.

_Leaves floated down, sporadically, around the dark figures. At a moment from the Lord, they emerged from the forest and pulled back their hoods. She was called forward first, took her vows, and held out her arm to receive his Mark. Fire raced through her veins as he raised his wand, then the sharpest pain she ever felt lanced through her arm. Needles stabbed in her flesh, sharp teeth nipped at her muscles, her bones. _

She would give every last drop of hate in her soul in return for him.

_She watched out the window for him every night. She could not wait for him to take her away from the pitiful fool she had married. He paused on the walk and tilted his face up toward the sky. The raindrops shone, diamonds trembling on his skin. Her heart clenched at his beauty._

The memories of their time together coursed through her mind, faster and faster, until she could not recognize more than snippets in time.

_A hand in the window, gone so fast she wasn't sure she had seen it. His teeth scraped across her breast. The hum he made when contented. Arguments, always arguments, loud and fast, the rough _(delicious)_ sex after. Killing a nameless face together. Scarlet rivulets working their way down the drain. _

She came back to the world, slowly. She knew what she had to do. She would find him and bring him back. She knew where to look. All she needed was some help. It was time to pay a visit to the aurors. She would pry what she wanted from them, one delectable inch at a time.

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	5. Wrapped in Plain

The fifth installment for **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges **forum.**  
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524 words

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**Wrapped in Plain**

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He strode through the shadowed walls, looking for his most prized, most faithful. These cells were meant to house those who would stay for the rest of their lives—there were no identifying marks on the cells, nothing to give hints as to the wasted souls who lay inside. His nostrils flared at the rank scent that permeated the air.

"Bellatrix!" he called. "Come to me."

There was no answer.

His heart tightened, briefly, at the thought of losing such a powerful servant. He turned to leave and spotted the outline of a figure against the moonlight streaming into the cell. As he watched, the figure—he presumed it was female, but could not be sure—stumbled across the cell to the bars. Her hands moved, plucking, grasping, at things he could not see. Her head remained down, pointed at the ground ahead of her, but he could not help but think that she did not see her feet.

She lifted her head as she reached the bars, raised her eyes to meet his. The dark circles and shadows disguised her eyes, so he reached a hand through the bars and raised her chin to the light. Her eyes widened as she saw his features. She reached out a shaking hand, tipped with grimy talons, to touch him. The instant before her hand touched his face, he flinched away from her.

Bellatrix stared at him, before a high red flush stained her cheeks. "My Lord?" she asked, voice barely recognizable.

This—_thing—_he thought, looked like someone had crammed a ghost in a husk, a ghost who had only a vague idea of what it was to be alive. It looked like a rotting corpse hung in a cage, plucked at by ravens and seared by the sun.

It reached its hand—Death's hand—at him again. He shuddered imperceptibly.

"Is it really you, my Lord? Have you come for me?" she asked, eyes searching his face. Wet breaths rattled out of shallow lungs.

He nodded, once. He could not trust his voice to hide his disgust. Her hand's movement had enveloped him in the sweet scent of decay.

To increase the time before she touched him, he swept his eyes along her emaciated figure. She was garbed in the same plain uniform that graced the others he had claimed from Azkaban, but hers was stained with brown patches he recognized all too well. The familiar sight jolted him from his thoughts and he blasted open her cage.

As they approached the others, he was the only one who noticed her shoulders begin to shake.

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She felt his disgust from the first time he flinched. It coated her tongue like old blood—bitter and sour. As soon as he possibly could, he sent her off to the others.

She watched his retreating back as he left her for brighter birds with bigger wings. She felt like a small mouse in comparison, her paws reaching for the stars. After all these years of waiting, she was ignored.

She drifted into unconsciousness with dreams of bright flowers that swallowed mottled grey mice, laughing all the while.

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	6. At the Base of the Giant's Throat

Installment the sixth of **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges** forum.

1360 words

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**At the Base of the Giant's Throat**

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Bellatrix strode into the dilapidated house, heart beating in her throat. This was her first chance to prove herself to her Master. The single most important moment in her life.

And she was late.

It was all Lucius's fault. Lucius, with his primping, strutting around like a peacock, keeping her parents occupied so that she could not slip away. _Damn_ him!

She was so occupied with reaching her destination that she did not notice the shadows moving along the walls, though there was no light source, nor anything to block the light. She did not notice clawed hands appear and reach for her as she passed.

He was waiting when she arrived, impatient. She thought she saw a flash of relief pass over his face as she entered, but dismissed it as a shadow from the fire. She sank to one knee before him. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I was held up by Malfoy," _the pompous fool_ she added, under her breath.

He surprised her with a laugh, a high-pitched cackle that made the back of her neck prickle. "Let us not tarry, Bella. There is much to be done tonight. Take my hand," he extended said appendage toward her.

She stared at him for a moment, considering. Was this a trick? She had witnessed his unforgiving nature herself. To be offered his hand...well, it seemed odd.

He let out a snort. "Come, Bella. I shall not hurt you tonight. That is, unless you want me?" he ended the sentence oddly, as if he knew—but he couldn't.

With a sharp motion, she grasped his hand. It was not cool, as it had been on the night of her initiation, but hot, as if he had been grasping coals a moment ago. She felt the familiar disorientation as she was pulled away from the room in which they stood to a decidedly different world.

He let go of her hand immediately, like her hand burnt him. She stared up at the buildings around them. "What _are_ they?" she asked, voice tinged with fear.

"Muggles. _Filth._" he spat. "They think to take over what is ours—what rightfully belongs to _us—_with their technology. They are under the impression that it is better than our magic. It has been too long since they were taught to fear us, and they no longer know their place," she stared at him, riveted by the expression of hate on his face. It twisted his handsome features into something...more. She could imagine that face, looking down at her, doing _things_. Things she had only imagined. He caught her gaze and smirked knowingly. She flushed.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting, Bella," he told her softly. "It is natural for wizards. Magic makes us want so much—but we can't have anything because of the _rules_," he sneered, face contorted again. "Rules made for pathetic beings that have no knowledge of truth, only their own little lives. They're insignificant—bugs," he said, waving his wand carelessly at one of the buildings.

With a crack, the building began to slide upon itself, she could almost imagine the screams of those trapped inside. It tilted, so very, very fast, and tumbled to the ground. She remembered Cissy's set of blocks that had lost their enchantment years ago that fell in just the same way.

"If you wish to join me," his eyes had not left hers for a moment as the building fell, "you will join me in taking what is ours," he pulled her close to him, she could feel his searing heat through her robes, her heartbeat increased. He brushed her hair off her neck with his wand hand, and she all but collapsed upon him. Heat pooled between her thighs. "Do you want to do that, Bella?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "Y-yes, my Lord," whatever he wanted her to do, she would. She knew not what enchantment he had over her, but it made her shake in anticipation.

"Good," he smiled. Just as suddenly as she had been pressed against him, she was thrust away. She looked at him, confused. "Not now, Bella," his mouth brushed over her ear, "there will be time for plenty of that later," he drew back with a chuckle and held out his hand again.

With markedly less hesitation, she grasped his hand again—was it possible that it had increased in temperature—as he apparated them to a quaint little street lined with cottages, each one with some sort of tree in the front yard.

"I have picked out a family for you, tonight," he said as he walked to one of the cottages.

She followed cautiously. "What would you like me to do with them, my Lord?" she asked.

He must have heard something in her voice, for he turned quickly. In an instant, he was beside her again, caressing her neck. "I thought you wanted this, Bella," he said softly. "Or was I mistaken," his hand closed around her throat, pressing ever so gently. Her heart jumped in her chest as he began slowly tightening his hand, until she could not breathe. He held her there, staring into her eyes the entire time. The heat between her legs flared up again and she shifted, attempting to relieve the pressure. As she shifted, he glanced down at her and smirked, then maneuvered himself until he had the tree at his back. He yanked her neck toward him as he leaned against the tree and used that moment when she was off-balance to position his knee between her thighs.

She instinctively clenched them around the foreign object, only to open her mouth in a silent plea as his hand tightened its hold and his knee rubbed up and forward, the hard bone rubbing the point of her pleasure. A flush went down her body in response and she pressed herself downward, rubbing against him.

His head dipped toward hers and she tilted her chin back in response, waiting. Her eyes snapped open as he whispered in her ear, "Yes, Bella, you certainly do want. You want ever so much," he set her on her feet gently. "These muggles are all that are standing between you and what you want. Let me teach you, let me _show_ you," his hot breath in her ear was making her knees wobble and she nodded, just a little.

The muggle woman was friendly enough, it wasn't until she killed one of the children that the screaming started. The frightened screams, the sheer power, heightened her pleasure. Her Master had been right. What good were rules that protected insects while taking away from those that truly mattered? What purpose did the muggles have, other than being her playthings?

"Don't kill the last one so fast," her Master said quietly. So she tortured him first, enjoying the sensations that rippled down her body as he screamed.

She was startled out of the trance caused by the screams when he lifted his hands to her breasts and unfastened her robes. She looked back at him, startled.

"He's unconscious," came the whisper in her ear as hands trailed down to her hips. "We'll continue when he wakes. Until then..." his hand slid up her thigh.

She gasped as he threw her to the floor, her head cracking painfully on the floorboards. He deftly cut her clothes with a severing charm. She stared boldly at him in her state of undress, wondering vaguely why she was so unafraid. She shifted her body slightly and smiled as his eyes trailed down her figure. Finally, she was in control. She was still gloating as his teeth closed around a nipple. He bit down, hard, and she screamed, back arching off the floor.

"You belong to me," her Master said, punctuating each word with another bite. She was sure she saw blood welling out of her breast.

"Yes, my Lord," she replied.

He did deliciously sinful things to her, splayed out on the floor between her first and third kill.

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	7. Cave of Spleen

The final installation for **xBeautifulTragedy's Make an Album into a Story Competition **from the **Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges **forum.**  
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**Cave of Spleen**

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Bellatrix laughed around the blood filling her mouth. "Come now, you must do better than that," she jeered. Some of the blood slipped, warm and coppery, down her throat. It was her first duel after the escape. She reveled in the warmth of sunlight on her skin.

"Get up, Bella," the Dark Lord replied. "It does little good to tell me my spells are ineffectual if you cannot even manage to get up afterward."

She could hear the words struggle to get out, _This is pathetic. I do not know why I waste my time with you. You are not worth my time. Broken. Useless. Trash._

"Come here, my Lord," she giggled. She flipped to her feet and felt something in her abdomen pop, followed by waves of pain, little claws tearing at her muscle.

She stumbled toward him, drunk on her freedom, and pulled his mouth to her own. She shared herself with him and admired her handiwork as she pulled away. His pale skin was marred by a scarlet smear.

His next spell wrapped her in explosive glass, her flesh torn open by the shards, she exalted in the feeling.

As she fell again, the glass sliced through her scabs. Her blood was splattered over most of the hill, yet she still watched eagerly as more was pumped out. _Purge. Cleanse. _

She smiled, blood dripping off her teeth.

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